


The Exit

by walking_tornado



Series: WC Missing Scenes [7]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode: s01e10 Vital Signs, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_tornado/pseuds/walking_tornado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Peter stole the surveillance tape, he and Neal still had to get away from the clinic. (Missing scene for 1.10, Vital Signs)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Exit

Neal: _What is that?_  
Peter: _Surveillance tape._  
Neal: _Peter?_  
Peter: _Let's go._  
Neal: _You stole that for me?_  
Peter: _Yeah, it's a regular Kodak moment._

***

Neal was heavy.

He also wasn't of much assistance to Peter as they made their way across the conference room. Peter supported most of Neal's weight as they walked, and while Neal attempted to help, the loose, exaggerated movements of his drugged body only served to throw Peter off-balance and make everything that much harder.

Peter had dragged Neal to the door of the conference room and had placed his hand on the doorknob before he heard voices from the hallway beyond. He intended for both he and Neal to flatten themselves against the wall, to hopefully be hidden by the door if it opened, but he didn't have enough leverage from that position to keep Neal upright. He twisted and pinned Neal against the wall, slipping both his arms under Neal's in an awkward parody of an embrace, and then he waited for the hallway to clear.

"Peter . . . " Neal's head lolled against Peter's shoulder and Peter could feel Neal's lips move against his neck with every word Neal spoke . "I need to tell you about—"

"Shh!" If he admitted to anything else, Peter might have to arrest him. As it was, there was still no evidence linking Neal to the Antioch manuscript heist—despite the best effots of Peter's team in the months before they'd nailed Neal on bond forgery—and the drugs in Neal's system made his confession useless without corroboration.

The door to the conference room opened partway and, in the sliver between the door and the doorjamb, Peter saw the blue of a security guard uniform. The guard took a single step into the room, still holding the door, when a second guard stopped him.

"Come on, we're needed on the second floor," the second man said.

"I thought they wanted us to sweep this floor for unauthorized—" The first guard took a step back as he spoke and the door began to close.

"Change of plan. One of Westlake's patients never made it to his office."

"Is that the guy that we caught going through Powell's office?" The guard had almost fully closed the door now.

"Nope. This one's an agitated bald guy. Glasses. Answers to Bruce."

"Didn't they check surveillance to see where he went?" The hard edge of the tape that Peter had shoved into his pocket dug into his side.

The door clicked shut and the voices became less distinct. "Yeah, but get this: there was no tape in the machine. Someone must have forgotten to put one in."

"Crazy ass day."

"No shit."

The murmur of their voices faded and Peter shifted his attention to Neal. By now Neal wasn't even trying to stand, and Peter was the only thing holding him upright.

"Neal?" Peter leaned away and craned his head to the side. Neal still rested his head against Peter's shoulder and his eyes had closed. Peter used the wall to slowly slide Neal down into a sitting position.

"Neal," Peter said again, more firmly, and he heard Neal's faint mumble.

"Sorry," Peter muttered, just before he gave Neal a couple small slaps to his cheek. He was rewarded with a slow blink and an unfocused stare. "Stay with me," Peter said. "We still need to get out of here."

The tension in Peter's voice seemed to do what the slap couldn't and Peter watched Neal regain focus and attempt to sit straighter.

"How had you planned to exit?" Peter asked.

"I just walked in . . ." Neal said, before trailing off. Peter moved himself into Neal's new line of sight and Neal refocused on him once again.

"And your plan for getting out was . . ." Peter prompted.

Neal shrugged. In his current state the movement was almost cartoonish.

Peter glared. "Oh, so you were just going to walk out the front door?" Neal met his eyes almost regretfully and Peter let out a loud sigh of frustration as he shook his head. "You were going to walk out the front door. Of course you were."

"Didn't plan on getting caught," Neal said, and the hint of petulance made Peter grind his teeth.

"Given how often it happens, maybe you need to work on that," Peter replied, but he regretted the waspish tone the minute he said it. He hadn't exactly come up with anything better when he swooped in to rescue Neal. "Why would you do something so stupid?"

"June's granddaughter, Peter." Neal looked at him with wide, hurt eyes, before he closed them. "They rescinded her kidney."

Peter sighed and squeezed Neal's shoulder. All the wrong things for all the right reasons.

"We'll have to—" As he made out a new sound from the hall, Peter tensed and shut-up. The faint, off-key whistling got louder, and Peter flattened himself against the wall again. He looked down at Neal, to caution him to be quiet, but Neal's crinkled forehead made him pause.

"Neal?" he whispered.

Neal frowned, shook his head at Peter, and his look of concentration returned. "The theme from The Prisoner . . ."

Peter scrunched his face in confusion. "What?"

"A Sixties television show. It's Mozzie." Neal struggled to get up without success. "Moz!" he called out. The whistling stopped.

"Shhh!" Peter bent down to clamp a hand over Neal's mouth, but relented in the face of Neal's annoyed glare.

"Code," Neal whispered when Peter pulled his hand away. Peter frowned but then he inched open the door, just wide enough to see a very familiar-looking janitor pushing a blue recycling bin. Mozzie had paused in the middle of the hallway with his head quirked to the side as he listened.

"Psst," Peter said, and it was enough to immediately draw Mozzie's eyes.

"Suit! What are you doing here?" Mozzie soon had pulled his bin into the conference room and had closed the door behind him. "I think Neal might be in trouble. He didn't meet me at . . ." Mozzie trailed off as he looked to where Peter pointed. Neal sat as though he might lose the fight to gravity at any time.

"Hey Moz." The smile Neal flashed to Mozzie showed far less sparkle that it normally would.

"Neal." Mozzie looked to Peter. "Drugged?"

"Yeah."

Mozzie nodded to himself as contemplated the situation. Then he spun around and pulled the large recycling bin towards Neal. "Suit, I'll need your help."

***

The bin seemed much too small and Peter balked at the suggestion that they could fit Neal inside.

Mozzie shrugged. "He's flexible."

The comment made Neal break into a loopy grin as he leaned on Peter and fumbled a leg into the bin.

"I am," Neal confided. "Very. Oh! Peter, this one time—"

Mozzie pre-empted whatever story Neal had been about to share by grabbing the other leg and dumping him in, leaving Peter to catch Neal's upper body to prevent him from tumbling over. With Peter's support, Neal slid the rest of the way inside and then looked up at Peter with deceptively guileless eyes. Neal opened his mouth and Peter leaned forward.

"Let's go," Mozzie said, and he let the lid fall shut, making Peter step back and eliciting a delayed exclamation of pain from the depths of the cart. "This way." Mozzie hauled the cart out the door. Peter followed.

They had made it down the hall and were turning the corner towards an elevator when Mozzie took a quick step backwards.

"It's the lady from June's! She can't see me!"

Peter glanced down the hall and grimaced. "Melissa," he said.

Melissa Calloway spoke on her phone and studied a file in her hand. She hadn't seen them . . . yet. Peter turned to Mozzie, who was trying the closest door and then swearing when it proved to be locked. Now was not the time to ask how in the hell Mozzie knew Calloway, but—damn it!—Neal was going to spill the whole story once they were out of this mess.

"There," Peter said. Across the hall was the women's bathroom and, without a word, Mozzie darted inside. Peter assumed it must have either been deserted or Mozzie had better acting skills than Peter gave him credit for.

"Doctor Tannenbaum!"

Peter turned smoothly and smiled wide. "Edgar," Peter said, "Please. No need to be formal."

"Edgar." Calloway smiled politely but it didn't reach her eyes, which had narrowed in suspicion. "You disappeared on me. What are you doing here?" She looked past the recycling bin sitting in the hall to the washroom door that had finally stopped moving.

"Sorry about that. I needed to use the facilities," Peter waved at the washroom, "and got lost. Had to ask the janitor for directions." Peter forced a laugh and inclined his head towards one of the locked rooms, hoping she would pick up on his implication that said janitor had moved on with his janitorial duties.

She frowned. "I was right there. You could have asked me . . ."

"You were on the phone," Peter said quickly, and when Calloway's frown deepened, he hurried on. "And it was an emergency. I have . . . a condition. I couldn't wait." He winced at the flimsy excuse and thought he heard a snort from the recycling bin. Peter coughed, just in case, and darted a glance to where Neal was hidden. If it were possible for a recycling bin to look smug, this one did. Calloway blinked and Peter was relieved to see the budding suspicion had been replaced by confusion as her gaze paused on sign for the woman's toilet.

"It . . . uh . . . that is . . ." Peter stammered, but Calloway held up a hand to forestall him. He wondered what conclusions she had drawn.

"I'm sorry, you're going to have to go." Calloway maintained her polite smile but Peter thought it looked forced. "Today is—"

"Today is busy," Peter said. "Melissa, I understand, and I'm sorry for making it busier. Maybe another time."

"Yes. Another time," Calloway said, but, from her tone, Peter doubted Elizabeth would have any further reason to be jealous.

Peter walked downstairs under Calloway's watchful gaze. As he glanced back, he caught a glimpse of Mozzie hauling the recycling bin onto the elevator. Conscious of eyes on him, Peter confidently walked out the front door and headed to his car. The building's service entrance was around back, and Mozzie would need his help manhandling Neal out of the cart. 


End file.
